


Saving Grace

by Jaelijn, ljunattainable



Category: Supernatural RPF
Genre: French Mistake Verse, Hurt Misha, M/M, Not really RPF, spnreversebang2014
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-10
Updated: 2015-01-10
Packaged: 2018-03-06 22:53:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,587
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3151376
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jaelijn/pseuds/Jaelijn, https://archiveofourown.org/users/ljunattainable/pseuds/ljunattainable
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Richard Speight Junior gives Misha an unexpected gift, a necklace with a little bottle charm full of something twirly and smokey, all is not as it seems to be.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Saving Grace

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the spnreversebang 2014 challenge. I got my first choice of art for the first ever year (I almost missed an international flight because I was so keen to get my choice in on time) and it was the wonderful Jaelijn on [ livejournal ](http://jaelijn.livejournal.com) and [ tumblr ](http://castielslight.tumblr.com). 
> 
> Go [here ](http://jaelijn.livejournal.com/81133.html) for the Art Master on Livejournal or [here, ](http://castielslight.tumblr.com/post/107676658046/spn-reverse-bang-2014-15-saving-grace-artist)[ here ](http://castielslight.tumblr.com/post/107676706666/spn-reverse-bang-2014-15-saving-grace-artist) or [ here ](http://castielslight.tumblr.com/post/107676789601/spn-reverse-bang-2014-15-saving-grace-artist) for the large versions of the three individual pieces (yes, there are three pieces!)

Misha has fit in to his schedule as many conventions as it‘s physically possible for one man to do in a three year period - without it involving time travel or worm-holes that is – so he counts himself as pretty good friends with everyone who’s been on Supernatural at one time or another, even those he’s rarely, or never, actually worked with. However, he’s not a good enough friend with any of them that they make it a regular occurrence, or even an occasional occurrence, to randomly give him gifts, so surely no-one can blame him for being a little suspicious when Richard Speight does just that in a corridor at a hotel in Las Vegas.

It can barely be two minutes since Misha left Rich chatting away to Matt and Mark in the green room, so he’s surprised to see him coming towards him from the other direction, and Misha can’t help an instinctive glance over his shoulder, back the way he came. All he sees of course is an empty corridor and the bodyguard the con assigned him (Paul, celebrating his silver wedding anniversary in two days, three kids, and a suicide helpline volunteer – really nice guy), not some magic teleportation device that would explain how Rich managed to get ahead of him. 

He turns back, and Rich is still there, striding forward, eyes locked intently on Misha, and a huge grin on his face as if it’s months since he last saw him. He meets Misha half way along the corridor muttering something that sounds oddly like, “Thank you, Father,” under his breath and he grabs hold of Misha’s left hand with both of his own, and shoves something into it, curling Misha’s fingers around the object. Misha can practically see the tension falling away from Rich as he drops Misha’s hand. Misha’s not entirely sure he wants whatever it is that Rich has given him if he’s that glad to get rid of it.

“For you,” Rich says unnecessarily as Misha tentatively unfurls his fingers to look at the thing nestling in his palm - a necklace with a thin leather cord, and a tiny bottle dangling from the center. Not that Misha’s ungrateful, but he doesn’t get it. He gives the necklace a cursory glance, barely taking his eyes of Rich for even a second.

“Why?” Misha asks, tilting his head to one side and narrowing his eyes to glare suspiciously. It’s not his birthday, not even close, nor is it close enough to Christmas for presents, nor has Misha done anything particularly note-worthy recently that would warrant some kind of thank you, or not that Rich would notice or know about anyway.

Rich takes a step back, looking Misha up and down in what’s almost a lascivious leer (which is pretty disturbing), but he doesn’t answer the question. “Damn, I wasn’t sure at first, but you really remind me of him. It’s spooky,” Rich says, almost to himself. With his eyebrows raised and his lip twitching in a smirk he looks like the trickster character he played that one time Misha worked with him in the Changing Channels episode last season.

“Who do I remind you of?” Misha asks, even more confused than before. Paul, behind him, taps his shoulder and Misha nods. They need to go but he’s always late, it’s kind of a tradition, and he’s not going until he finds out what the hell’s going on.

Rich shakes his head. “It doesn’t matter. Do you like the charm?” He seems pretty eager so Misha reluctantly looks away from Rich and down at the object in his hand. The way the smoky-white - what is that? Liquid? Real smoke? – well, anyway, the smoky-white whatever in the glass catches the light is actually hauntingly beautiful, and the warm weight of the thing in his hand is oddly comforting. 

“It’s actually pretty wonderful,” he murmurs, staring at it, mesmerized. Rich looks so relieved that Misha gets suspicious again. “If this is some kind of prank… “

“No prank,” Rich swears. “Put it on so you don’t lose it.” 

“I still don’t understand why you got me this,” Misha says as he slips the cord on over his head and around his neck. It gets caught in the collar of his shirt and he fiddles with it ineffectively. He’s not that fond of wearing jewelry himself, and has a lot more experience from the other side. It must show because Paul takes pity on him, or maybe it’s just to get him moving so that he’s not too late for the photo ops, and untangles the cord from Misha’s collar. 

Misha tucks the string and its little bottle under his shirt in case any of the people at the con asks questions. Then again, he could always tell them Jensen gave it to him. Most people would be happy to believe that and it’s not as if anyone would ever check with Jensen.

By the time he turns around to thank him, Rich has gone. 

 

###

“Seriously, there’s no way I can say this stuff with a straight face,” Jensen says, breaking into another fit of giggles.

Misha grins from ear to ear, thoroughly enjoying Jensen’s discomfort, and places a hand over his necklace, feeling the familiar, comforting warmth under his palm. He looks up at Jensen where he’s perched on the arm of Misha’s chair, wearing a smile that Misha just can’t stop staring at. The more Misha stares the wider Jensen’s smile gets, making Jensen’s eyes sparkle in a way that should be downright illegal. For all that Misha’s unhappy that Jensen and Jared had a recent falling out and aren’t talking to each other any more, getting to spend more time with Jensen like this is definitely an upside.

“Hey, stop laughing at me,” Jensen huffs as he nudges his elbow playfully into Misha’s shoulder. He nods at Misha’s necklace. “Or I’ll tell everyone you wear that thing to bed.” 

“I do wear it to bed,” Misha says, solemnly. Truth is, Misha wears the necklace all the time and never wants to take it off, but he hopes Jensen takes the comment as a joke because he doesn’t want to admit that, even to Jensen.

Misha’s mouth twitches up at the corners when he gives up trying to keep a straight face, and Jensen nudges him again. “Jerk. Well at least stop fondling it or you’ll get Richard’s hopes up,” Jensen says. 

“Aw. Are you jealous?” Jensen pauses just long enough that Misha wonders if he’s actually going to say yes.

“You wish,” Jensen says. Misha chuckles and looks back down at the script.

“Anyway, not laughing, I promise,” he lies. Jensen pokes his tongue out at him

“Yeah, so you say.” Jensen shakes his head and waves his script around making the pages flap in front of Misha’s face. “I don’t write this stuff you know, I just have to say it.”

“Well, say it again,” Misha says. “It’s better to get the giggles out of the way in here than out there.”

“I dunno man. I think this would be easier to say in front of the crew than just the two of us.”

“So, what? You’re saying you would rather point out my boner in front of a bunch of co-workers than in private?” Misha asks, winking, and he’s rewarded when Jensen unconsciously checks out his crotch, which just as an aside, doesn’t have a boner.

Jensen jerks his eyes up to meet Misha’s mischievous grin when he suddenly seems to realize where he’s staring. 

“It’s Cas’s boner and I hope it’s more impressive than that,” Jensen grumbles, wobbling on his small perch, and grabbing Misha’s shoulder to steady himself. 

“Let’s go again,” Jensen says with a sigh. He doesn’t let go of Misha’s shoulder and Misha wonders, not for the first time recently, if this is actually going somewhere, this thing that seems to be there between Jensen and himself. It’s more than friendship, isn’t it?. He squeezes the necklace’s little charm bottle in his fist. He’s taken to talking to it in his head recently too, and that’s something else he’s not going to tell Jensen. 

Hey buddy, you’re helping me sleep these days, think you can help me get laid? 

The bottle doesn’t answer, and obviously it’s not going to answer, it’s just a bottle, but Misha feels a little bit disappointed all the same.

After they finish up running lines, Misha doesn’t see Jensen again until five hours later when he’s eating a late lunch. He’s holding the necklace in his left hand, stroking it slowly because it feels a little sad and he’s trying to cheer it up (and yes, he knows that sounds ridiculous), and feeding himself slowly with the fork in his right hand, when Jensen sneaks up beside him and startles him out of his reverie, making him drop his fork into his salad where it frightens the lettuce into making a slither for freedom across the table.

“A penny for them?” Jensen says.

“Crap,” is all Misha says in response, watching his lost lettuce forlornly. 

“You looked miles away,” Jensen says with a chuckle. “Can I join you?”

“Yeah, of course,” Misha says, shuffling sideways to make room and taking a quick look around the room for Jared. He holds on to the necklace as he peers around surreptitiously. Not that Misha doesn’t like Jared, because he does, but there are days he feels as if he’s caught in the middle of a high-school drama when he has to deal with Jensen’s and Jared’s childish behavior when they’re in the same room together.

Satisfied that Jared’s not there, Misha turns back to Jensen and finds him staring at his throat. Misha swallows involuntarily but it turns out that unfortunately Jensen’s not looking at his throat, as such, but at the necklace.

“Seriously, Misha, you’ve got a real problem with that thing.” Misha’s not sure if he’s joking this time. He tucks the necklace under his shirt, right in under the light blue t-shirt he’s wearing beneath Cas’s dress shirt.

“It’s like a little lost kitten,” he says, trying to joke about it. When Jensen cocks an eyebrow at him and looks as if he’s barely moments away from having him put in a straight jacket and taken away by men in white coats, Misha clears his throat in embarrassment and tries to explain. “I just mean it seems to like being close, being held… you know what, this is sounding bonkers even to me.” 

Misha picks a radish and a slice of tomato up with his fork and shoves the whole lot into his mouth before he can say anything else 

“Do you want to come for a drink tonight?” Jensen asks in a rush, changing the subject so rapidly Misha nearly chokes on the food in his mouth. Jensen spending time with him on set is one thing, socializing outside work hours something else entirely. He swallows and turns to watch as Jensen, carefully avoiding looking straight at him, shovels an entire forkful of expertly twisted pasta into his mouth.

“Who’s going?” he asks slowly, because if it’s some big group thing and Jared’s going and Jensen’s asking so that he’s got a patsy to turn to if things get rough, then Misha’s really not interested, but rather surprisingly, Jensen’s face turns shy.

“Actually, just me. And, you know, you. If you’re free.” Like a date, Misha’s brain unhelpfully supplies, before he snaps his mouth shut when he realizes it’s embarrassingly hanging open. Or a drink with a buddy, a guys night out, except they don’t do guys nights out, not just the two of them. So a date then.

“Okay,” Misha’s mouth says before his brain has caught up.

 

###

They don’t get to go on that date. Misha should have known he was just a stopgap for Jensen while Jensen and Jared worked out their differences. Now it’s late afternoon, almost early evening, on the same day even. Jensen and Jared are back to talking with each other as if nothing ever happened between them, and Jensen seems to have forgotten all about Misha. They’re even back to making fun of him again with the jokes about his name. Like really, that got old two season’s ago. It’s like being right back at the beginning when they gently teased him, only this time it seems crueler, but maybe that’s just him overreacting to his disappointment. He really thought he and Jensen had finally got on the same page at the same time. 

It puts him in a really crappy mood and he takes it out on everyone around him, which just makes him feel worse. He’s not that kind of person at all normally, and the guys around set are starting to give him a wide berth. He really needs to try and be more professional. He holds the necklace pressed tight between his palm and his chest but even that doesn’t seem to help. The necklace has been giving off unhappy vibes for a couple of hours now so they’re wallowing in misery together.

Misha goes home that night feeling sorry for himself. He spends a fitful, sleepless night full of regret. 

The next day’s no better. Jensen and Jared are not only ignoring Misha, but acting like complete dicks. They fluff every scene, aren’t around when they’re needed, are rude and inconsiderate, in fact they’re unprofessional in every sense of the word. When they arrived on set Misha asked a completely innocent question about what was in the package Jared had with him, and all he got back was “Bought part of a dead person,” like Misha’s going to believe that. Misha tweets that Jensen and Jared are involved in black market organ trading just to spite them.

If Misha stops to think about it, it doesn’t seem like them at all. Even with a late night behind them, which his more charitable side attributes all the dickish behavior to, but he’s more than happy not to think about it. It gives him an excuse to dislike them for a day, petty and bitter though that seems. 

Misha finds that a day can be ridiculously long when you’re feeling tired and fractious, and he’s heartily relieved when it’s time to go home. He hasn’t seen Jensen or Jared for a while and he couldn’t care less. Tomorrow is a new day and a new start and he’s just going to put all this behind him. He puts on his favorite sweater and after being unnecessarily mean to David the PA, and all the poor guy did was to say goodnight to him, he climbs into his car with a depressed huff. Pretending not to care doesn’t work – his mom was so wrong on that front.

He’s barely settled in the driver’s seat when the hairs on the back of Misha’s neck stand on end, and the skin on his chest, under his necklace, prickles into goose bumps. Trust him to get spooked for no reason. Annoyed with himself, he pulls out his phone. Humor is the answer to most things. ‘Ever get that feeling someone’s in the back seat,’ he tweets, then adds a frowny face for good measure.

The fright of feeling a knife suddenly held against his throat makes him cry out. The cold metal lays against his skin. The man in the back seat breathes over-heated air against the back of Misha’s neck making him shiver involuntarily in disgust and fear. He should have trusted his instincts, or at least the necklace’s. He quickly checks the side mirror to see if David’s still there but of course in the mere two minutes it took Misha to get in the car and tweet, he’s gone. Probably left as quickly as possible to get away from Misha’s mood, and boy, is that karma.

“Drive,” the guy in the backseat says, and Misha, not having any choice, drives. His hands shake on the wheel the whole time as the guy directs them to some run of alleys on the outskirts of Vancouver that Misha didn’t even know existed, and they drive into the maze, Misha getting quickly lost. The necklace has gone cold against his skin, and he wonders if it’s afraid. Misha doesn’t blame it. Misha’s terrified. The knife lingers close to the side of Misha’s neck the whole time and he tries not to drive over any bumps and avoids the rubbish littered near the dumpsters. There’s a purposefulness resonating off the guy in the back seat and Misha doesn’t like it one little bit. 

When they reach a dead end, Misha stops the car. He hopes and prays that this is all, that he simply had to bring the guy here but that hope is quickly dashed as the guy ushers Misha out of the car. ‘Where the hell are you when I need you,’ he thinks at the necklace, but it stays stubbornly unresponsive. He leaves the engine running because maybe he’ll be able to make a getaway.

“Okay, okay, okay. Easy, easy,” he says as the guy pushes him along and slams him against the alley wall. Misha looks around for help but the place is deserted.

The man’s babbling something about there being no magic and living in a desert, but it makes no sense to Misha other than he’s about to be murdered by a lunatic. He feels tears well up and he tries to choke them back down. It’s been a hell of a couple of weeks – the necklace, Jensen - only to end in this. 

“You should thank me for what I’m about to do,” the man says.

“Why, what are you about to do?” Misha asks, though he knows of course. Now he knows.

They say when you’re dying your past flashes before your eyes, but when the guy cuts his throat, it’s Misha’s possible futures that flash before his. The future where he and Jensen are together, the future where he gets to have his humanitarian political future and make a real difference to people’s lives, the future where he has kids to raise. He gets five seconds of reviewing what could have been while he struggles to breathe through the hole in his throat and sinks to the ground, drowning in his own blood. Darkness closes in on him and spots dance, sparkling, in front of his eyes as he slides regretfully, ungracefully into death. 

###

Misha wakes up slowly, feeling groggy. He curls into the soft mattress and pillow and lies, still and quiet, appreciating the deathly silence. He frowns. Death. There’s something about death he should be remembering. He concentrates hard, but for a second his mind is completely blank and he realizes he even has no idea where he is or how he got here. Then every little detail comes back in a rush. He shouldn’t be alive. He died! He distinctly remembers dying. Something’s very wrong. Bordering on panic, he lifts his hand up to his throat but where there should be a gaping hole there’s only a hard line like a scar. It runs from one ear almost to the other and his hand shakes as he traces along the line of it with his thumb. He hisses when he presses a little too hard. It hurts, so obviously his memories aren’t totally out of whack, but he clearly remembers the heat of his blood on his neck and chest after the man in the car slit his throat. He was crying because he was so scared, then the knife cut across his throat so fast Misha hardly had time to think. He drowned in his own blood. He definitely died. He slips his hand lower to the collar of his shirt and fumbles for his necklace but it‘s gone, and he misses it instantly.

He takes a deep breath. Okay, who needs some kooky necklace. Right, take stock, calm down, breathe. He’s obviously got an injury but he’s not in a hospital. He’s not at home either, so maybe he really is actually dead.

Misha’s an open-minded guy and he could have been wrong about there being no afterlife, and this kind of feels like death might feel like. For a start, he’s absolutely freezing to the point where he can’t feel his fingers and toes, though he can wiggle them when he tries but he’s not sure whether toe wiggling would be banned or not in the afterlife so that doesn’t really help him work out if he’s dead or not. In fact he’s not even sure if you can feel cold if you’re dead. But then, he thinks he’s opened his eyes but it’s just as dark with them open as with them closed. He’s pretty sure the afterlife would be dark. Of course there’s also the fact that he can breathe to weigh in, because last time he remembers, he was having a hell of a hard time trying to breathe through all the blood. 

Being dead is starting to seem the least frightening explanation, which is saying something, and he’s just working out if this is Hell or Heaven – and congratulating himself for how calm he’s being about it - when there’s a creak and a rattle and an oblong of light appears against the far wall, quickly widening to become an obvious doorway, silhouetting a short, compact figure in the opening. Misha lies very still. His breaths come rapid and heavy and he can feel his heart thudding in his chest. 

The figure takes two steps into the room and Misha holds his breath.

“Oh, good, you’re awake.” There’s something familiar about that voice, too familiar. Misha peers into the darkness and his eyes gradually adjust.

“Rich?” Misha stutters in disbelief. He can’t imagine how any of this could be real but he sure hopes his heaven or hell doesn’t involve Richard Speight in a dark room for all eternity. He struggles to push himself up with one arm. He feels ridiculously weak and more than a little dizzy and his elbow shakes under him, barely managing to hold him up. 

“Sort of,” Rich says, which makes no sense, and he walks across the room to stand by Misha’s bed. Giving up on trying to stay upright, Misha flops back down, edging further away from Rich, if this is Rich, in what he hopes is not too obvious a manner. 

Rich silently holds up Misha’s necklace, dangling it from his hand, and without thinking Misha reaches out and grabs it, curling it tight into his fist, relieved when he feels the familiar warmth that abandoned him when he was abducted. It’s weaker but it’s there. He brings the vial to his lips and kisses it before slipping it over his head.

“Thanks,” he murmurs.

Rich grins at him. “You’re lucky you had this, and you’re lucky the guy who slit your throat didn’t know that you had it,” Rich says.

“What happened? Where am I?” Misha asks. “And why are you here?” he adds with emphasis.

Rich settles himself on the edge of Misha’s bed. “How much do you want to know?” 

Misha raises an eyebrow. How much is there to know? “Everything?” He suggests tentatively, wondering what he’s letting himself in for. “How about we start with what the hell you’re doing here, Rich?”

“Ah, about that.” Rich looks sheepishly down at his feet, then looks up with a huge grin. “Gabriel at your service.”

Misha sighs. Trust Rich to be a dick. “Okay, if that question was too hard, how about what the hell am I doing here?”

“No Seriously!” Rich says jumping up off the bed with way too much energy for Misha. Misha tenses nervously. “Look, I’ll show you!” Rich bunches his hands into fists, pulls a face that makes him look constipated and then he just plain disappears. Misha sits up in such a rush he almost falls off the bed.

“What the fuck?” he says into the otherwise empty room. It’s got to be a trick. He eases upright and looks around in the dim light cast by the still open door. The necklace gets weakly excited under Misha’s shirt, pulsing little warm signals against his skin. Even as Misha struggles up into sitting, and God he feels so weak, what the hell’s that all about, Rich reappears exactly where he was before and sits down on the bed again in an exhausted heap.

“I hate your frigging world. No frigging magic and if I wasn’t an archangel I wouldn’t even be able to do that little party trick.”

“Holy crap,” Misha swears under his breath, wide-eyed. He vaguely remembers the man who abducted also talking about no magic. “Are you telling me angels are real?”

“Duh,” Gabriel says, catching his breath. He nods at where somehow the little bottle on the necklace has somehow made it’s way back into Misha’s hand. “How’s your little buddy feeling?”

Misha looks down at the bottle and it’s as if a little light bulb goes off over his head. “This is an angel’s grace,” he says, dropping it so it hangs on the outside of his t-shirt.

“Yeah, and not just any angel.” Misha jerks his head up to stare at Gabriel.

“Castiel’s?” Misha breathes.

Gabriel raises an eyebrow in amusement. “Let me tell you a story,” he says. “Once upon a time… “

Misha’s mind is positively reeling by the time Gabriel’s finished. 

Cas - the Cas that Misha plays as a fictional character on a TV show - well his grace is hanging around Misha’s neck, though only a little is left according to Gabriel, which Misha likes to theorize is why it’s so sad a lot of the time, though Misha hasn’t said that to Gabriel. It would feel kind of like ratting out on something that might be a secret to Cas’s big brother. 

Cas’s grace saved Misha’s life, for which he’s very grateful. There wasn’t enough grace to finish the job, which is why he’s sore and dizzy - he’s still missing a few pints of blood apparently - but Misha’s alive so he’s not going to nitpick about a few aches and pains. 

But the angels can’t know that Misha has Cas’s grace or they’ll come and kill him. Again. The angels from the future that is, who are apparently different from the angel that killed him last night who is from the now, if not from the here. (To say this tale is confusing is putting it mildly). That angel (“Virgil”, Gabriel says with a sneer) is gone now, back to his own time and place, Gabriel gave him a helping hand before he hurt anyone else, but Gabriel seems overly keen to emphasize that Misha’s in no way safe. Misha thinks he’s doing it on purpose just to make him nervous. The necklace pulses, briefly, agreeing. It makes Misha smile, and Gabriel notices. 

“Tell him to mind his own damned business,” he mutters, before carrying on with his tale.

Gabriel is one of the future angels, and in his time some monster dick called Metatron (yes, the voice of God, the one and the same) took Cas’s grace and used most of it in a spell to expel all the angels and close the gates of heaven. 

But Metatron didn’t use all of Cas’s grace in the spell, hence there’s this little bit left that Gabriel decided to nab and keep safe for Cas until Metatron has been deposed, which Gabriel is very certain will happen, he’s just not sure when. Misha’s strangely warmed by the fact that Gabriel has an element of considerate and caring big brother in him. The Gabriel they portrayed in the show was a bit of a sod to Cas when they last had them together in the same episode, and Misha hadn’t played it like there was a lot of brotherly love. If they write Gabriel back in at any time, Misha’s going to play it a whole lot different. 

What really cheers Misha up is when he finds out that the Jensen and Jared that were on set the last couple of days, weren’t Jensen and Jared at all, but were actually Sam and Dean Winchester. Jensen and Jared were safely elsewhere and that means that maybe Jensen and Jared still aren’t talking, and there’s still hope for him and Jensen. He tries not to feel too excited though. The last couple of days really knocked him down and made him realize both how much he wants to be with Jensen, but also how fragile anything that they have right now is.

“Dean and Sam are dicks,” he says, and Gabriel nods sagely.

“Tell me about it.”

“Why don’t you just give Cas his grace back?” Misha asks. “Surely it’s safer with him.”

“Because he’s a weakling. God knows how he’s survived this long. Metatron’s goons will kill him if he’s got his grace,” Gabriel says, rolling his eyes, presumably at Misha’s stupidity.

Misha clears his throat. “Then how long… ” he pauses. “How long can I keep him?” He’s really going to miss Cas’s grace when he has to give it back.

“Not long I hope,” Gabriel says, missing Misha’s concern. “Must be hard work. Little bro can be moody.” 

Moody yes, hard work no. Misha wonders what ‘not long’ means in angel terms. He hopes it means a long, long time.

###

Misha ends up stuck in the same room, with a small bathroom off to one side. It seems to be some kind of abandoned janitor’s live-in digs in some kind of old dock building. It’s okay to hide out in he supposes, but despite the fact it has a bathroom, there’s no running water, there’s not much fresh air, and there’s no natural sunlight. Gabriel warded the room, gave Misha strict instructions not to leave, and brought him enough food and water for about a week. There’s no extra water for washing because Gabriel didn’t think about that, of course. Misha’s sure he’s started to stink. He’s been here two days now and he’s getting serious cabin fever. At least he’s feeling much better now. His neck is still sore but the constant dizziness has almost entirely gone. 

He drops the local paper Gabriel brought him yesterday down on the floor next to the bed and grabs a nut bar from one of the bags, crunching away on it as he thinks, wincing as he swallows. 

On the second day, and with no new information, the local newspaper has relegated his abduction to page three, but they’ve obviously had some time to talk to people. Misha’s read the article twice and it’s dramatic, assuming the worst, with quotes, mostly from colleagues who all seem to believe he’s dead. Apparently there was so much of Misha’s blood in the alley that no-one expects to find him alive. 

There’s nothing from Jensen, or Jared, not that there necessarily would be, but Misha wonders if they’re back yet from wherever it is they went. He wonders if they think he’s dead too, and he wonders if Jensen’s sad. Misha would be sad if it was Jensen and he actually finds himself hoping they’re not back yet. When Misha had asked Gabriel, Gabriel hadn’t known, and obviously didn’t care, shrugging and saying that was up to Balthazar. 

Misha desperately wants to leave and let his friends know he’s okay. He has no idea when Gabriel will be back and he can’t stay cooped up for God knows how long. He knows he shouldn’t leave but, despite evidence to the contrary, he still can’t quite believe in the danger of angels from the future, and anyway, he’s got his own guardian angel hanging around his neck. He was saved once by Cas’s grace, he can be saved again. The grace objects weakly. Misha ignores it. He makes a decision and heads out. 

He’s still got his wallet, but not his phone, which presumably fell on to the floor of the car two nights ago. It means he has to walk through the unpopulated abandoned buildings before he reaches anywhere he can get a cab. There’s a few homeless people around who glance at him but otherwise show no interest. The weather’s turned cold and they’ve got other things on their mind. 

By the time he reaches actual civilization, he’s both freezing and tired. Maybe he’s not as healthy as he thought he was. It’s late afternoon and the street’s busy with rush hour traffic. He shouldn’t have any problems finding a cab and he sits on a bus stop seat to rest up while he checks the passing cars. He should probably just find a payphone and call the police but the idea of heading to set and letting everyone know he’s okay first is a lot more appealing, especially as he has absolutely no idea what he’s going to tell the cops. He could find a payphone to call the set though, but when he peers up and down the street looking for one there isn’t one to be seen and he really hasn’t got the energy to go looking.

He probably should have found the energy because what few cabs he does see drive straight past him when he waves, and looking down at himself, he can’t say he’s really surprised. He’s filthy, still covered in alley mud and dry blood from two nights ago. He must look a real mess. 

Cas’s grace seems happy by this state of affairs but Misha’s not. He looks impatiently up and down the street for free cabs, and nervously for suspicious looking people in suits heading his way. Thankfully, finally, after it gets dark and the traffic has dropped back to a quiet evening volume, a cab stops. The guy must be desperate for a fare but he still looks at him very suspiciously and demands payment up front. Misha’s more than willing to comply. If the driver thinks Misha stole the wallet, he doesn’t seem to care.

###

The first person who sees him as he walks on to the lot is Jared. Or Sam. Whoever it is, they’re standing there, staring at him with their mouth open. Misha finds that he wants it to be Jared with a scary amount of passion, not least because Jared’s a touchy-feely kind of guy and Misha could really do with a hug right now. He wishes Cas’s grace would give him some help here but it’s quiet and not helping at all. It’s probably sulking. Nevertheless, Misha pulls the little bottle out and holds it for good luck before starting to shuffle tiredly, and hopefully towards the waiting figure.

Before he knows it, Misha’s being charged at by six foot five of muscle, and he doesn’t even have time to be alarmed before he’s wrapped in a full body hug. 

“Jared, you’re squashing me,” he gasps after a minute of being held tight in Jared’s fierce grip.

“Sorry, sorry,” Jared says, wiping what looks suspiciously like a tear away from his eye. “It’s just… you’re alive… everyone said you were dead.” Suddenly Jared steps back, holding Misha at arms length, looking him up and down, with a frown.

“Is that blood on your clothes? Jesus, Misha. And your neck! What the hell happened? Wait, don’t tell me yet.” Jared grabs Misha’s sleeve and pulls him in the direction of the men of letters set. “We have to find Jensen. Man, he’s going to be so happy to see you’re okay. Then you can tell us both. We should get a doctor to look at you though. You look like crap, and that scar on your neck looks nasty.”

“You guys are talking now?” Misha asks, allowing himself to be dragged along. It seems the only relevant part of what Jared said. A heavy weight settles over his heart and Cas’s grace forgets it’s sulking and sends a pulse of comfort. Misha’s happy for Jensen and Jared, of course, but he can’t help feeling sorry that he may have lost his chance with Jensen. 

Jared stops and looks more embarrassed than anything else when he replies. “Yeah. I guess our differences looked damn stupid and petty in comparison to losing a friend, not to mention some real weird shit happened to us, and… ” Jared stops, chewing his bottom lip as if wondering whether to say more. “Well, I have something I’m not sure I should tell you.” He stops again, and Misha waits not particularly patiently for him to finish. Something along the lines of, you have to leave Jensen alone because he’s really not interested wouldn’t surprise him right now. “Jensen and I stopped talking because Jensen wanted to try a relationship with you, and when I told him it was a bad idea, he listened to me. He was miserable and he stopped talking to me.”

Jared rushes the words out and when they’re out, waits expectantly.

“What?” Misha manages.

“Are you interested?” Jared says earnestly. “Because if you’re not, please, please forget I ever said anything.”

“Is this a prank?” Misha asks with a shaky voice, “because if this is a prank, I’m so going to kick your ass, Padalecki.”

“I don’t think you could kick a five-year-old’s ass right now, Collins, but if you doubt me, I’ll show you,” Jared answers, and leads the way again towards the set.

When they walk on to the set, Jensen’s sitting on his own in his director’s chair, staring at nothing. There’s no-one else there. 

“We’re not filming,” Jared says quietly. “The network gave everyone a couple of days off.” Jared takes the cuff of Misha’s sleeve as if he might make a run for it, but that’s the last thing Misha wants to do.

“Jensen?” 

Jensen turns his head slowly, eyes widening. He stands up then takes a step forward before stopping. Misha keeps walking until he’s face to face with him, having sudden doubts as Jensen makes no move to say or do anything.

“We were told you were dead,” Jensen says eventually.

“Almost was,” Misha replies simply. 

Jensen lays a hand on Misha’s arm, as if checking he’s real, then lifts his other hand and runs a thumb along the scar on Misha’s neck. Misha flinches.

“What the hell?” Jensen asks, pulling his hand back. “And is that dry blood on your clothes?”

“It’s a long story,” Misha says. Jensen flicks a glance at Jared, who waves a hand nonchalantly. 

“Dude, go for it. I think he’s in.”

“I’m frigging glad you’re alive, man,” Jensen says, wrapping his arms around Misha in a bone-crushing hug. 

“Me too,” Misha says quietly in Jensen's ear. Misha's not sure how long they stay like that but eventually Jared clears his throat. 

“Yeah, okay, enough,” Jared mutters, though with good humor. “How about we make some phone calls and then swap some stories?”

They head to Jared’s trailer, passing a few of the crew on the way who are pottering around doing odd jobs in the unexpected time off. Each one stops and stares at Misha in disbelief, then happily congratulates him on being alive. Misha’s too tired for this really, and Jensen and Jared don’t seem much better, so as soon as they can move on graciously, they do. 

When they get to the trailer, Jared takes it upon himself to make a couple of phone calls to let everyone know Misha’s back, and Misha takes advantage, or maybe he’s putting off talking about the whole ordeal, to clean up. It’s wonderful to shed the filthy clothes and get warm and clean under the shower and he stays there until the water goes cold, scrubbing his skin and his hair, cleaning little flecks of dry blood out from between his toes and under his nails. The necklace gets a wash and polish too, in the sink. He’s not sure it appreciates it as much as he does though.

He slips the necklace over his head and dresses himself in a loaned shirt of Jared’s, that’s absolutely huge, and a pair of Jared’s jeans that are fine around the waist but that he has to roll up about fifteen times at the ankle so he’s not tripping over them. Then he cleans his teeth for about ten minutes. The minutiae of human hygiene escaped Gabriel and neither soap nor toothpaste, or brush were provided. Not to mention it’s so nice to use a real toilet again. 

“We’re home buddy,” he whispers to Cas’s grace and the grace sends a sad pulse back. “Yeah, I guess not for you, huh.”

Jensen and Jared are talking when Misha comes out of the bathroom, and they look happy, smiling. Jensen holds up wine in one hand and beer in the other, and Misha takes the wine gratefully. 

“The police are coming,” Jared says. “I said give us a bit of time, and they’re giving us an hour. Sorry man, that’s all I could wrangle.”

Misha shrugs, it was kind of inevitable. “I guess I’ve got an hour to come up with a good story then. Want to help me? And you can tell me what happened to you guys.”

Sharing Jensen and Jared’s story doesn’t turn out to take long. Jensen sits beside Misha on the couch, his hand fidgeting between them, and Jared does the talking. They were gone two days, but the whole time they were held in some posh hotel room, fed and watered, all without seeing another soul. There was no TV, no newspapers, just a few books and old magazines.

“There was even a Busty Asian Beauty,” Jared says, laughing. 

Misha huffs. “That’s not even a real magazine,” he says, but maybe it is where Gabriel comes from.

“Things were weirder when we got back than when we were away though,” Jensen says. “Everyone was wary of us or pissed of at us and no-one would say why. Someone even asked us if we’d changed our mind about quitting. They didn’t even seem to notice we were gone.” 

Misha drops his head wearily on to the back of the couch. He feels Jensen move closer, and he leans against him. Jensen doesn’t move away, and Misha smiles. “Well, I might be able to shed some light on that.”

He tells the story mostly as Gabriel told him, rather than chronologically. Not surprisingly they don’t believe him. Jared in particular is peering skeptically at him as if checking to see if he’s had a particularly nasty bump on the head. Jensen is looking thoughtfully at the necklace, so maybe he believes a little bit. Cas’s grace is cold and unhappy though so maybe not. He’s almost got to the part about the future and past angels, when there’s a sharp rap at the door.

“The cops,” Jensen hisses, leaning forward. 

Jared looks at his watch. “They’re early.”

“Not a lot we can do about it,” Misha says. 

“Yeah… you know, Misha,” says Jared, “if I were you I’d say you saw nothing, were unconscious the whole time, then woke up and came straight here. I’m not sure your story’s going to convince them.” Misha had come to that conclusion on his own but it’s quite endearing the way Jared seems to think he might actually tell the police the truth. He smiles at him.

Jensen stands up, placing a hand on Misha’s shoulder. Misha could get very used to this. “Are you ready?”

“Yeah. As I’ll ever be.”

As soon as Jensen’s undone the latch and started to open the door, the person on the other side throws the door open the rest of the way with a lot of force. Jensen’s flung back into the room and lands at Misha’s feet with a loud oomph as the air’s knocked out of him. He looks dazed, and Misha reaches out for him just as Jared stands up to face the woman standing in the doorway. 

“What the hell,” Jared says, anger distorting his face as he glances at Jensen, then takes a step forward. “Who the hell are you?”

Dropping his hand from Jensen, Misha rushes to his feet. He knows who this woman is. He knows he should never have come here. He should have done what Gabriel said and stayed where he was, warded and safe. Then his friends would be safe, but now he’s put them in danger through his own selfishness.

Misha’s faster than Jared, God knows how. He steps in front of Jared pushing him down into the chair he came from. If Misha’s right, the only thing this woman – this angel - is interested in is Cas’s grace.

The woman sniffs the air and hones in on Misha. “Give it to me,” she says.

“Misha - what’s she talking about?” Jensen grunts, getting his breath back, and clambering on to the edge of the sofa.

“Stay there, Jensen,” Misha says, eyes not leaving the woman. He has no idea where he’s getting his bravery from and he starts praying earnestly to Gabriel. “I won’t give it to you,” he says.

The woman steps forward and hits Misha across the mouth with the back of her hand. He falls backwards, sprawling at Jared and Jensen’s feet, the coppery taste of blood in his mouth.

Jensen and Jared both reach down to him, cursing in alarm, and start to haul him up. He gets about the length of his forearm off the ground when the woman leans forward and grabs Misha by the front of his shirt, hauling him up, turning him around, and flinging him out of the trailer. There may not be any magic in this world, but the angel’s strong despite that.

Misha hits the ground hard, cracking his head against the tarmac, and hearing and feeling one wrist break as he holds it in front of him to try, unsuccessfully, to break his fall. He rolls onto his back and cursing, holding his wrist, he stares up at the angel through hazy vision, minutes from blacking out, as she stalks towards him. 

“Give it to me,” she snarls.

“I won’t,” he says through teeth clamped against pain as he inches back along the tarmac with his elbows and heels. Jensen and Jared appear in the door of the trailer and he yells, “Pray for Gabriel,” at them without thinking and the angel snarls.

“Gabriel’s dead,” she says.

“Not so much,” says a cheery voice.

The angel turns around sharply, straight into Gabriel’s sword.

There’s a hint of a white light as the angel dies, and Misha feels sad for it briefly, wondering what happens to it in a world without magic. As the light fades, he drops back onto the ground, dizzy, his head throbbing fit to burst. He lifts his good hand to his temple and it comes away bloody. He drops his hand to the grace still around his neck and squeezes it tight willing it to heal him and take away the pain. There’s a faint warm feeling in his palm, and some of the worst of the pain eases, but he knows the grace is still too weak to do much. Gabriel crouches down by his side, looking very annoyed.

“I told you to stay where you were.” Misha would shrug if it didn’t hurt quite so much. 

Shadows fall over them as Jared and Jensen come and loom large and wary behind Gabriel.

“Richard?” Jensen says.

Gabriel sighs. “Humans. You can’t live with them, and you can’t live without them.” He tilts his head up to look up and behind him.

“I appear out of thin air, kill an angel without blinking, and you still think I’m your human friend? Really?” 

Jensen looks suitably sheepish, and Misha wants to laugh but his head is spinning and it's distracting. 

“The alternative’s a little spooky to be honest," Jensen says. He drops to his knee besides Misha, watching Gabriel nervously as he brushes Misha’s hair back, away from the head wound. Gabriel watches closely. He shakes his head.

“What?” Jensen asks.

“Every fricking universe, that’s all I’m saying,” Gabriel mutters. He turns his attention back to Misha.

“Can you get up?” he asks, and Misha nods warily. He's not actually sure this is a good idea.

“Cas’s grace doesn’t seem to be working too well,” he groans as Jensen and Jared help him up as Gabriel steps back out of the way. Misha wobbles on his feet.

“Whoa! Are you sure you’re okay?” Jensen asks in alarm.

“Never said I was okay,” Misha slurs, then passes out.

###

Misha wakes up in the hospital if the constant beeping is anything to go by. He blinks his eyes open slowly and lifts a hand to wipe away the grit from his eyelids but finds himself thwarted by a white plaster-of-paris cast on his wrist. He can blurrily make out about a dozen signatures scrawled on it with some very impolite messages. He drops the wrist and rubs his eyes blearily with his other hand. He smiles when he glances to the right, and sees Jensen’s asleep in the chair by his bed. Yeah, he could definitely get used to this. 

Someone clears their throat on his other side and startles Misha into turning his head too sharply. He closes his eyes briefly to clear the dizzy feeling then opens them again quickly to see who’s there. It’s like looking in a mirror. He feels for the necklace but it’s not there. He looks around because maybe they put it on his bedside table or… 

“I’m sorry, but it’s gone.”

And Misha knew that, really. He feels a sense of loss that he’s rarely felt before. But, having said that, Castiel, the angel, is sitting by his bed. “Do you have it?” he checks.

Cas nods. “Yes. And thank you. Gabriel told me you were injured because you refused to give it up.” Cas tilts his head and this is so weird. “I wondered why.”

Misha wishes he knew. All he does know is that he absolutely had to keep the grace safe.

Castiel stands up. He looks kind of weary. “It’s okay, I know I think.” He smiles and that’s weird. Cas rarely smiles on the show and Misha wonders how much he smiles in real life. Cas glances towards Jensen on Misha’s other side, and Misha turns and sees Jensen's awake. 

"I'll leave you two," Cas says, walking towards the door. "Good luck," he says to Jensen, then he's gone.

Misha looks at Jensen curiously. “What did he mean, good luck?” 

“I um, I’ve got you something,” Jensen says. He hands over a necklace with a bottle at the end. “Well, technically, Cas got you something.” He holds it out and Misha puts his palm out. Jensen wraps his hand around Misha’s curling it into a fist with the bottle inside. Misha looks up at him in surprise. It buzzes slightly in his palm, nowhere near the energy of the original, but definitely Cas’s grace all the same. 

“I kinda made a deal with the angel,” Jensen says, smiling. “He’s going to tell Dean he’s been in love with him for years, and, and I.. Um, well, I have to tell you that too.”

“Go on then”

“What?”

“Tell me you love me.”

“Shut your mouth. I just did.”

“You didn’t.”

Jensen leans in, and pushes his lips softly against Misha’s. “I did.”


End file.
